


Second Chance

by MyckiCade



Series: We'll Start With One [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fools who need one another, M/M, Mating is a bitch, Slash, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:16:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiCade/pseuds/MyckiCade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What makes you think I miss him?”<br/>“Well, for starters, you dialed my number, to talk.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf. I am not that clever. This work is for fan enjoyment only. No infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: As requested… ;)… I put together this little follow-up. I figure, I was cruel enough, the first go-around. I hope that you enjoy. ~ <3 ~.
> 
> P.S. This kinda’-sorta’-accidentally fits in with the These Lines Will Blur series. In other words, this involves just a touch of Dergent, and I barely apologize. ;).

“What makes you think I miss him?” Stiles asks, hardly prepared to defend himself against the accusation. If anything, he’s curious. On the other end of the line, he hears Derek’s heavy sigh.

“Well, for starters, you dialed  _my number,_  to talk.”

Shit. There’s really no way around that one, is there? “Yeah, but… Like, how  _else_  would you figure I’m…? I’m…”

“Lonely?” Derek supplies, following a short pause. The sound that Stiles replies with could either be taken for an affirmative, or a sudden, minor obstruction of the windpipe. Either way, Derek continues. “You’re pacing the floor, right now, right?”

Stiles stops cold, looking down at the floor, half-expecting to find a groove worn into the carpet. “…No.” He can practically  _feel_  Derek rolling his eyes. “Anyway, lots of people pace,” he argues. “Means nothing.”

“How are you sleeping?” It’s a low, dirty, underhanded question, and they both know it. Stiles is sure of that. “Have you been eating? ‘Cause, Peter’s sure not.”

This catches his attention. “Peter’s not eating?” Nope, that’s not worry in his voice. He has no worry left in him for that worthless, mangy, hateful, wonderful, intriguing, loveable bastard who-

_Yup. Definitely getting off-topic, there, Stiles, ol’ boy._

It’s a brief moment before Derek heaves another sigh. “He is, but… Well, I know he misses you, Stiles.”

Hope springs up in his chest, and he quickly works to fight it back down. “He can’t miss me. He basically laid out for me how much he hates me.” The pout that falls across Stiles’ lips, Peter would have been quick to call attention to. Make fun of. Kiss away. Shaking the thought from his head, Stiles re-focuses on Derek, and mumbles, “That fight did us in, pretty good, actually.”

“What was the fight  _about,_  anyway?” Derek asks, sounding genuinely curious. “He couldn’t give me a straight answer.”

Stiles blinks. “He told you everything else, though?”

“Eh… Well, he didn’t cry on my shoulder about it, but… He  _was_ pretty upset, the night it happened.” Stiles feels his stomach hollow out, and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. Those aren’t tears threatening, either. No, he’s just got a bit of frustration in his eyes. Regardless, Derek seems to take his silence for what it really is, and goes on. “Look, Stiles, I… I know you think it’s over, but… Hey, you guys have been living together for over a year, and  _this_  is your first fight? I’d say that’s pretty good.”

Honestly, he hasn’t thought of it like that, yet. A few more days, and, maybe, he might have. “Do you and Chris fight?” he asks, suddenly. “I-I mean… Like,  _bad_  ones?” He’s seen the two snip at each other, a few times, mainly when someone’s life has been in danger, and they’ve been at-odds over the course of action to be taken. Everyone’s always suspected trouble in paradise, and a couple of the others have monetary bets on their stability. Stiles wants no part of that, hoping for the best for his friends. He’s even hoping for the best for himself, right about now, praying that he hasn’t ticked-off the one person who’s willing to listen to him bellyache over his ex, at-length.

To his surprise, however, Derek  _laughs._  “All the damn time, Stiles,” he admits, and Stiles is sure he’s doing a pretty good imitation of a dying fish. “And, for the record, we walk out on each other, a lot, too.”

“H-How…?” He’s stunned, that’s all there is to it. “How can you laugh about that, though? Fighting is serious.”

“Not always, Stiles.” Derek’s tone is still bordering on amused. “Last week, we fought over who locked the keys in the house, when we left. Over the weekend, it was about me washing the laundry on warm, instead of cold, and some of the whites are now off-blue.” Pausing, Derek chuckles. “This morning, I got mad at him for planning a business trip on the week of our anniversary. I said something I shouldn’t have, and… Heh… He still hasn’t said a word to me.”

Again, Stiles finds himself gaping. “Doesn’t that worry you, though?”

“Nah, not really. He’s just cooling off. He’ll come around.” The words are pointed. Direct. “He always does. And, so will you and Peter.”

It’s Stiles’ turn to sigh. “What makes you so sure?” he asks, trying not to sound as defeated as he feels. “I’m really pretty sure he hates me. If it wasn’t already a thing, then, it’s gotta’ be, now, after some of the stuff I said to him.”

“But, that’s the thing, Stiles. Fighting is so normal… And, hey, everyone has their reasons, am I right?” He is, and Stiles can’t argue it. Won’t. His reasons aren’t great ones, he’ll be the first to admit. He just wishes he could take them all back. “And, everyone says things in anger, things they don’t mean. Just because you blew up at one another, that doesn’t mean you have bigger problems.” This has Stiles smirking. He has to wonder, sometimes, if Derek has actually ever met either of them. “Honestly, I’d be more worried if you two  _didn’t_  get around to having this fight. It’s not always going to be great, but, it’s not always going to suck, either. Shades of grey, Stiles, that’s what you have to live for.”

Stiles stops, then. Blinks. “You’ve been listening to Duran Duran, again, haven’t you?”

“Chris had it in the CD player,” Derek explains, not terribly bothered by it. “I’m getting better about picking my battles.”

* * *

It’s nearly one in the morning when Stiles has the sudden feeling he’s breaking into his own apartment. Okay, so, technically, the case could be made that it’s Peter’s apartment, again, but, hey, it’s not like he smashes a window to get in. He has a key, a fact that speaks  _volumes._

_You could have put it back, but, you didn’t,_  he reminds himself.  _Must have been for a reason._

He’s not terribly surprised to find the apartment engulfed in darkness. Peter’s not really a night owl, not like Stiles is. Often times, Peter will go to bed, hours before Stiles. Alone. It happens, a lot, actually.

_A little too often, maybe,_  Stiles concedes. Adds it to the list of things he wants to work on, here.

Stiles knows where he’ll find Peter, and isn’t surprised to come upon the older man curled up in bed, buried under the covers. What  _does_  somehow manage to catch him off-guard is the near-desperate way that Peter is clutching at Stiles’ pillow. One misplaced claw, and it’s curtains for the ol’ stuffster. It’s pulled tight to his chest, Peter’s face buried against the pillowcase, his brow drawn tight. Distressed. Just the look of him has Stiles’ heart aching.

Looking onward for a long moment, Stiles pauses to curse himself out, mentally. How could he have said those awful things to Peter? Sure, there had been a couple of really hurtful things thrown his way, too, but… He’d all but called his lover a rapist. Oh, God, he’d used the word _animal,_  for fuck’s sake. He’ll be lucky if Peter doesn’t wake up, and punch him square in the nose.

It’s a calculated risk, however, prompting Stiles to remove his shoes and jacket, before slipping under the covers, behind Peter. Warmth is radiating from the sleeping form, beside him, causing Stiles to frown. Even for a werewolf, it’s too much heat. He’s read up on what to expect from this. They’ve been apart for nearly a week, without a word spoken to one another. For him, it’s been heartache. But, for Peter… If what the Bestiary says is true, it’s been torture for Peter, losing his mate for what he’s likely thought to be forever. Depending upon how far it’s progressed, a fever may actually end up being the least of their concerns.

Slipping an arm around Peter’s waist, Stiles hugs him closer.  _God,_  he’s missed this, missed wrapping himself around his sleeping lover at all hours of the night. He’s missed the smell of his hair, and the easy, untroubled movements of his breathing. Gentle. Soothing. So much so that Stiles, himself, is almost asleep when he feels Peter shift under his arm.

“Stiles?” It’s a single, quiet word, practically whimpered for how strained Peter’s voice sounds. It causes Stiles to flinch.

“Hey, Peter,” he murmurs, in return, pressing his lips to the juncture of the older man’s neck and shoulder. “I’m home.” It’s hesitant, and presumptuous, all at the same time, but it’s all that Stiles has to go on.

Peter shifts, again, turning in Stiles’ arms until they’re face-to-face. Finally, in the dimness of the moonlight that filters in through the curtains, Stiles can see what the last days have been doing to Peter. There are dark circles under Peter’s eyes, and his lips are dry.

_Dehydrated,_  Stiles guesses, sighing.  _Damn it, Peter. You know better._

He doesn’t say anything, though, not with the way that Peter is staring up at him, eyes wide, like he’s… Like he’s dreaming. Afraid. The younger smiles, sadly.

Presses a gentle kiss to Peter’s forehead.

Nuzzles his hair.

_Apologizes._

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Stiles pleads, hoping to find forgiveness at the end of this long and terrifying path. “What I said… I-I was just angry. I love you, and, I don’t want one fight to destroy us.”

Peter glances down toward the vicinity of Stiles’ chest, blinking, several times. He appears to get his bearings, rather quickly, before shaking his head. “I don’t either,” he admits, quietly. Leaning forward, he buries his nose against the front of Stiles’ shirt. “ _Missed you_ …” It’s the closest thing to an apology that Stiles is likely to get, on his end, despite not really having been looking for one, in the first place. Between the two of them, he’s gotten away practically unscathed, compared. Peter’s arms move to encircle Stiles’ waist, clutching at him, tightly. “Please, don’t leave.”

Again, Stiles finds his heart on the verge of stalling out. “Aw, Peter,” he murmurs, softly, pulling the other closer. He nuzzles at Peter’s hairline, sighing. “I’m right here, babe. I promise.” One hand rubs at Peter’s back, soothingly, his cheek coming to rest atop Peter’s head. “One fight isn’t going to ruin us… We’re stronger than that.”

From within his arms, Peter chuckles, a slightly manic, broken sound. “You sure about that?” he asks, and Stiles chooses to overlook the hint of concern that laces his tone. Edgy. Pained.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” It’s a promise, one that he intends to see through, come hell or high water. “We’re stronger than we know.” He strokes at Peter’s upper arm, lightly, a small smile settling over his lips. “And, I know that it won’t break us, Peter. It won’t, because, we won’t let it.”


End file.
